Fairy for a Day, or Dark Blue and Rumplefairy
by darcyfarrow
Summary: Fed up with the Blue Fairy and Rumple's constant bickering, the Great and Powerful One reverses their roles for a day. Just a bit of silliness, and because there aren't enough BF/Rumple stories.


"_He_'s been catching my fairies and imprisoning them in jars."

"Can I help it if they make such good night lights?"

"And when I'm in the middle of fulfilling a wish, he'll come sneaking up behind me and make faces at my clients until they get scared and run away."

"Well, _you_ gave my son a magic bean—"

"He asked for it! I didn't have a choice! And you could have gone with him."

"Are you kidding me? Jump into that inverted tornado? No way! I was sure it was a trick of yours to get rid of me—"

"I don't trick people. That's your job!"

He mimicked her voice—such a talent for mimicry he had! He should have gone onto the stage. "'I don't trick people'—oh yeah? Then how come you turned a perfectly healthy, _tall_ young man into an annoying insect? I lost my best fence in that deal. Gullible as the day is long, that one was. And casting a spell on a hunk of wood and calling it a 'real boy'—if that isn't trickery—"

"Enough!" The Great And Powerful One roared, banging her fist on her desk. . . her very _tall_ desk, Rumple thought, craning his neck back to see her. "I've had enough of this squabbling. It ends now!"

"Or?" It was rude to challenge the Great One, and dangerous, but Rumple was the Dark One and therefore obligated to provoke all things bright and good, if he thought he could get away with it.

"Don't sass me, Dark One, or I'll turn you into a mosquito and set you loose in a frog pond."

The Blue Fairy turned up her nose and smirked at her old adversary, but the Great One didn't let her off the hook either. "And you, I won't even have to turn into anything. Frogs find fairies quite tasty as they are."

The Dark One and the Blue Fairy, the most powerful beings in all of Fairytale Land, lowered their heads in shame and submission. . . but cast sideways glances at each other, she sticking out her tongue, he making crazy eyes.

Nothing escaped the Great One. "That's it! I've had it up to here." she made a slashing motion across her forehead, as though a sudden splitting headache had come on. Rumple knew there would be consequences this time: this wasn't the first time they'd been called onto the carpet, and from his perspective, "here" looked like a pretty tall place. "It's time you two learned a lesson." Then the Great One sneered in way that looked awfully familiar. "No," she drawled, "I have another idea."

"When she does that, she looks just like you," the Blue Fairy hissed at her rival.

"Shut up already! I'm meting out punishment. At least have the common sense to act contrite." The Great One sat back in her very tall chair (a chair with little wheels, Rumple noticed: if he had one of those, he could scoot all around the Dark Castle and never have to stand up. And then he remembered he knew the transportation spell and he really didn't _need_ a wheeled chair, but imagine the chair races he and Belle could have. . . ). "Dark One! Pay attention. I'm talking to you."

He hung his head. "Yes, O Great One."

The Blue Fairy stuck her fingers between her lips and stretched her mouth out as far as it would go. He couldn't help it: he sniggered. But he quickly apologized and hung his head again.

"Good gods, what was I thinking when I invented you two," the Great One moaned. She sighed deeply. "I should turn you over my knee, that's what I should do." She glared at Rumple. "But I suspect you'd actually like that. So here's what's going to happen. You're going back to Fairytale Land. Tomorrow, from sunup until sundown, you, young lady"—she pointed a long, scary finger at the Blue Fairy, who gulped and tried to hide behind Rumple. "You, young lady, will be the Dark One, green scales and crazy eyes and all. You will do everything he is tasked with doing, in the way he would do it. Everything."

"But he's evil!" the Blue Fairy squeaked, peeking out from behind Rumple's shoulder (his broad, manly shoulders, he added).

"Everything exactly as he would do it. You will learn—if you know what's good for you—what it means to be evil, and why men do evil things, and the purpose that evil fulfills in the world."

The Blue Fairy ducked back behind Rumple, muttering, "Evil, evil, evil."

"And you." The Great One pointed that dangerous finger, which Rumple had no doubt could change him into a tasty mosquito with no effort at all. "Dark One, for tomorrow, you will be the Blue Fairy."

He had seen the worst than men could do; he had seen vicious killings, brutal wars, torture devices of all kinds: guillotines, thumb screws, Iron Maiden (twice, in concert, back in the '80s). Nothing shocked the Dark One. But this did. He gasped.

"You will be the Blue Fairy," the Great One continued. "Flitting around doing good deeds, free of charge, speaking sweetly to all you meet—and wearing wings and a tutu while you're doing it."

The Dark One's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell over in a dead swoon. The Blue Fairy had to slap his cheeks to revive him. And once he was revived, she slapped him again, just to make sure he stayed that way.

"From sunrise to sundown. And then you'll report back here. If I think you've learned anything worth learning, I'll send you home. If not, it's the frog pond for the both of you." The Great One leaned over her tall desk to glare at them. "Don't think you can't be replaced in a heartbeat. Nova and Regina have been begging for promotions."

"Nova! But, Great One—"

"Regina! But she—"

The Great One rose to her full height, and she was so very very tall. "That's it! We're not waiting for tomorrow." She pointed that dangerous finger, and in a purple poof the transformation had occurred. The Dark One stared at the Blue Fairy and laughed at her frizzy hair (oh, she was going to hate that!), her scaly greenish skin, her long black claws, her rotten teeth, her dragon-skin jacket and black leather pants (actually, she looked pretty good in those pants), her long, lace-up boots.

The Blue Fairy stared at the Dark One and laughed at his mile-high poofy hair (so '80s), his giant cotton ball necklace, his fingerless formal gloves, his spaghetti-strap bustier, his six, count'em, six delicate gossamer wings, his crocheted tutu with the fringe hanging down, and best (or worst, depending on your perspective) of all, his nine-inch killer heels.

Thank the gods, he thought, he couldn't see himself. He would die of mortication. And then the Blue Fairy smirked and conjured a mirror.

He reached out his manicured hands—sky blue nail polish!—to wrap them around her scrawny neck. She tried to flutter backwards, but discovering she could no longer fly, she settled for stepping instead. He took a step forward to reach her; his ankle went one way and his heel the other and the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back again. She tittered and pointed and conjured a Smartphone: in sixty seconds this picture would be on Facebook.

The Great One growled and snatched the Smartphone away.

He struggled to get to his feet. After several attempts, he made it but he teetered on those heels. "It's not fair." Gods, his voice got whiney when he complained. He forced it down into a lower, more authoritative register. "In our world, that look"—he pointed at the leather and dragon-skin—"is cool. This look"—he pointed at the tutu—"is just ridiculous. All due respect, Great One, but if you leave me looking like this, no one will take me seriously enough to make a deal with me."

"Fairies don't make deals," Blue shook her finger at him. "We give our magic to those who need it, out of the goodness of our hearts."

"Besides, I can't even walk in these clodhoppers. How am I supposed to 'serve mankind' if I can't walk?"

"That's what the wings are for," Blue pointed out.

"If you'd get yourself some sensible shoes, sister, you wouldn't need the wings."

"Quiet! All right, maybe I went a little too far with the tutu." The Great One snapped her fingers.

Rumple glanced down and found that the heels, the tutu, the bustier and all the rest of it was gone; instead he was dressed in a pale blue suit with a white shirt, yellow tie and sensibly heeled, albeit golfer-white, shoes. He shrugged his shoulders, relieved to look halfway decent, though still kind of Miami Vice-y, and found he still had the wings, all six of them. He wouldn't press his luck; he clamped his mouth shut.

"Report back here in twenty-four hours." The Great One slammed her desk again. "And you'd better have learned something!"

* * *

The Evil Queen waltzed into the Dark Castle as if she owned the place. Her black robes trailing, leaving streaks all over Belle's clean floor—"I just mopped that!" —Regina made a queen-beeline for the tea tray waiting on the dining table of the Great Hall. Ignoring Belle's continued protests, Regina poured herself a cup, adding four lumps of sugar. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Too sweet." She smirked at Belle, knowing full well the price of sugar. "Be a dear, Margie, and bring me a tankard of ale instead."

Belle folded her arms and stood her ground. "You don't have an appointment, do you?" It wasn't really a question. Belle knew Rumple's appointment book down to the last minute; after all, she kept it for him. "If you ask nicely, I'll see if we can squeeze you in sometime next month."

"Don't be ridiculous," Regina waved a dismissive hand. "Run along now and fetch me that ale before I turn you into, I don't know, something." The way she said it, she was informing Belle that she didn't think the duchess worth the trouble it would take to decide what that "something" would be.

"Get out," Belle remained rock-solid. "Or I'll order the castle to throw you out." And it would do that, too; Rumple had ordered it to obey Belle's every command, as long as cooking wasn't involved.

Into this knife-thick tension walked (because she could no longer fly) the Blue Fairy, or for today, the Dark Blue Fairy. "Good morning, Belle," she smiled sheepishly.

"Morning, Blue. You don't have an appointment either, do you?" Belle clicked her tongue. "Oh, Rum's not going to like this at all. His two least favorite people, and on a day he's fully booked, too."

"Well, actually, your master—" Dark Blue began, but when she saw Belle raise a threatening eyebrow, she backpedaled. "Your, uh, employer, won't be back today. He's, uh, engaged elsewhere, and for today, I'm doing his work." She gulped as both Belle and the Evil Queen shot eye-daggers at her. "For today. By orders of the Great and Powerful One."

"Oh." Regina sat down in Rumple's chair—oh, he wasn't going to like that _at all_, Belle thought; he could always tell from the burn marks Regina left on his furniture whenever she sat down.

But Belle, never having heard of a Great and Powerful One—to her, it sounded suspiciously like a character from a children's novel—required an explanation, so the Dark Blue Fairy gave it. And then Belle sat down on the dining table and said, "Oh."

And then Regina and Belle both started to giggle. Uncontrollably. When they finally sobered, Belle sized Dark Blue up: "Well, you look quite nice in his clothes, anyway." And that gave Regina an idea and she sniggered so hard she snorted: "If you're wearing his clothes, does that mean—"

"I wish you could have seen," Dark Blue sniggered too.

Regina, her body racked with laughter, bent over the table and pounded it with both hands, and Belle giggled so hard she nearly fell off the table, and Dark Blue laughed so hard she nearly bust a seam on those skin-tight leather pants. Which, Regina had to admit, did look pretty good on her.

"I think we need that ale now," Belle said, wiping the tears from her eyes, and she trotted off to the kitchen.

"I've never actually watched him at work," Dark Blue admitted. "How does he proceed?"

Regina gave it some thought. "Well, they summon him. Or, as he would put it, they request an audience. Sometimes he allows them to come here, if they're regular clients; usually, he goes to them."

"So far, so good."

"He makes them wait. Sweat it out. And when they're frantic with desperation, he"—Regina made an elegant, sweeping gesture with her arm, "appears in a cloud of magic. He likes to make an entrance, you see. He sizes them up: their level of desperation, their ability to pay. By then they're biting their nails and wailing. He already knows what they want, of course, and what he's going to charge—he decides all that long before he makes his appearance. Yet he makes them tell him, so they think it's the first time he's hearing it, and sometimes they get so confused they ask for the wrong thing and they end up with a deal they had no idea they were making. It's all part of the game. He makes them tell him what they're willing to pay; strange thing is, most of the time, they haven't even thought about payment. Whatever comes out of their mouths—and sometimes, believe me, it's insane, the difference between what they think they're saying and what they actually say—that's what he makes them pay. He usually requires a written contract, if they can read, so they can't complain later that they were cheated. Of course, most of them still do, but then it's their own fault."

Dark Blue rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "What if they want something that's not good for them?"

Regina threw back her head and laughed, and her hair slipped a little to the side: she'd been going for the Marie Antionette look. Dark Blue neglected to remind her where Marie's head of hair had ended up. "They always want what they shouldn't have. That's the point. Otherwise, they'd ask for you, not the Dark One."

"So he gives it to them."

"If they pay the price."

"I've heard of some of his prices," Dark Blue said dryly. "Don't you think he. . . overcharges?"

"Doesn't matter what I think, as long as the customers sign on the dotted line."

"And if they don't pay?"

Belle walked in at that moment, carrying a tray bearing three tankards. "That's what this morning is about." She set the tray down and flung one of the tankards down the polished table, like a Wild West bartender (she and Rumple had been reading a lot of westerns lately). Regina caught the mug equally expertly. Belle raised a second tankard in Dark Blue's direction, but the fairy shook her head. "Oh, I never imbibe."

"You need to start," Regina said, "if you're going to get through one of his days."

"This morning," Belle explained, "is collection time on accounts past due."

Blue accepted the tankard and drank deeply. It would be a long day.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin took one step forward.

The eleven fairies lined up before him took one step backward.

He folded his arms and glared.

The fairies hid their faces in their wings.

"Aw come on," he groaned. "How can I do her job if none of you will tell me what her job is?"

They took another step backward. If they retreated any farther they'd end up in Cleveland.

He stuffed his hands into his suit jacket (Armani—he had peeked at the lable). "See? I promise I won't hurt you. I won't yell at you or stomp on you or yank your wings off or dip you in salsa and have you for my afternoon snack. Deal?"

They shivered in their high heels.

"By the way," he cocked his head, "how do you manage to stay upright in those things?"

"Well, it's really a matter of ear wax," one of the fairies shrugged. "Helps us keep our balance."

"You," Rumple barked, pointing at her. Then he smiled and tried to make his tone sweet, but he only made her cry. He gave up on her and pointed at the tallest fairy (still a good twenty inches shorter than he was, he judged; he rather liked that). "You then. What's your name, dearie?"

"N-n-n-nova."

He bowed with a grand sweep of his arm. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, N-n-n-nova. I'm Rumplestiltskin." He rolled the "r"—such talent; he really should have gone onto the stage. "But of course you know that. Your. . . mistress?" He watched their faces for a sign he'd guessed the right term. "Queen? Owner? Boss? Anyway, she and I have agreed to a one-day job exchange. Just to liven things up a bit, you see. So for today, I am your master."

"If you're taking Blue's place," Nova waved her wand and produced a scroll, which she held out to him, keeping her body as far back as she could.

He made a mouth at her as he took the scroll. "I don't bite, dearie. I've already had breakfast." He sneered and N-n-n-nova jumped backwards to be out of his reach. "Besides, those wings get caught in my teeth. And you're all so. . .bland." He inspected the scroll, taking note of the calligraphy—he wrote a fine hand himself—until he observed that fairies dotted their "i's" with little hearts. "Sheesh. All right, what is this?"

"Blue's list of chores for the day."

"What do you mean, Blue's list? She's the queen, isn't she? Shouldn't this be your list?"

"We have our own lists," N-n-n-nova explained. She pointed at the scroll. "Those are all high-end tasks, you see. Much too important for common fairies."

He squinted sideways at her, suspecting someone was pulling the wool over his eyes (wool—hmm, he could be home spinning right now if he hadn't picked that fight with Blue). "'9:00 to 10:45. Renegotiate contract with the Miners Union, Dwarves Local 103.' Okay, that sounds important, I suppose. '10:45-noon. Answer calls from desperate humans.' Right up my alley. 'Noon-1:00. Lunch with winner of Fairy of the Month.' Hope she likes chimera. '1:00-2:30. Nap time.'"

N-n-n-nova fluttered her wings angrily. "That's not on the list."

"It is now. The Dark One must have his beauty rest, ladies."

"You're not the Dark One today."

"Really. Who am I, then?"

The smallest fairy tittered behind her hand. "Rumplefairy."

"Geesh." He rolled the scroll back up and tucked it into his pocket. "It's going to be a long day."

* * *

"But you have to," Dark Blue insisted, her voice rising higher and higher. She stabbed her finger at the parchment. "See? You signed the contract. You have to pay up."

The butcher sized up the little gal in black leather. He figured if she gave him any more trouble, he could sit on her and be done with it. What was the Dark One thinking, sending this snippet in his place? Assuming he'd got off amazingly easy, the butcher picked up a hunk of raw meat and waved it at the door. "I ain't payin' nothin'. I got nothin', so I ain't payin' nothin'. Get out."

"But you did. The Dark One fulfilled his end of the bargain. Look, your shop is in on the best corner in the busiest part of town, and you're making money ham over fist. You got exactly what he agreed to, exactly what's in this contract, and now you have to pay."

"I earned all this," the butcher roared. "With my blood, sweat and tears. With my own two hands. He give me nothin'. Now get out before I swat you with this lamb chop."

Dark Blue hastily scanned the contract for a paragraph concerning default. Of course, she found one: she was learning already that Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not meticulous. With a deep sigh she asked one more time, "Now will you pay me, please, or am I going to have to declare you in default?"

The butcher threw the lamb chop. It smacked her right in the face.

That did it. Blue could not abide such disrespect (besides, she was a vegetarian). She slapped at her leather pants in search of her wand, then remembered the Dark One didn't use a wand. She raised her hand and summoned magic and fulfilled the obligations as stated in the contract.

Turning the butcher into a pig. Or to be more precise, a hog. She chased him out into the street before his assistant could catch him and hang him in the window as today's special on pork.

* * *

Dark Blue returned to the Dark Castle at noon, hoping for a nice meal and a nap (the Dark One did sleep sometimes, didn't he? Only Belle seemed to know.). To her dismay she found Regina still there (six empty tankards strewn out in front of her), gloating and anxious to hear the outcomes of Dark's morning.

Dark threw her chore list onto the table. "All right, I did them. I did them all."

Wordlessly, Belle slid her a tankard of ale, which she quaffed before adding, "The world is now minus seven lyin', cheatin', dealbreakin' scumbags and plus one hog, two goats, two turkeys and two laying hens. Does he always do livestock?"

Regina sniggered. "They're edible."

"Waste not, want not," Belle added. She reached into her apron pocket for a second list and presented it with a Rumple-like flourish. "Your afternoon appointments. New clients. They won't know what they're doing, so it'll take some time."

"Opportunity knocks," Regina added. "Want me to go with you?"

"No, no," Blue answered hastily. "I'm. . . getting the hang of it." She took another swig of ale and wiped the foam from her lip with the back of her hand. Regina and Belle exchanged a bemused look.

* * *

"You did what?!" N-n-n-nova forgot to be afraid. She marched right up to Rumplefairy and stabbed her finger in his chest. "I can't believe you did something so mean, so greedy, so irresponsible! You've probably ruined our relationship with the 103 for all eternity!"

"I got you a far better deal than the one Blue wrote out." Rumple would have stabbed his finger right back at her chest, except he didn't want to be accused of harassment. He was in enough trouble with the Great One. "You should be thanking me. Look at these terms." He thrust the new contract under her nose. "The dwarves have agreed to work 14-hour days, not the measly 12 Blue wanted. They've agreed to a 30-minute lunch instead of 45, nine paid holidays instead of 17, and if they don't meet the monthly production quota, they forfeit their year-end bonuses and stock options."

"This is horrible!" N-n-n-nova shrieked, shaking the contract at him. "You realize what this means? You take away their stock options, they have no personal stake in the company and they start goofing off on the job."

"That's what the quota's for. We weigh every bag—"

"Yeah, and you know what they do? They fill those bags with quartz and low-grade diamonds instead of the good stuff, just to make quota."

"So we hire some inspectors, and for every bag that's rejected, we dock them a day's pay."

"Good gods, Rumplefairy, don't you know anything about negotiation? This is skilled labor we're talking about; you don't mess with them! They'll go on strike and then where will we be?" N-n-n-nova stared at the contract again. "And you made them sign it—in _blood_?!"

He shrugged. "Thought it was a nice touch. Shows commitment."

The angry fairy tore the contract into tiny bits and threw them in the air. "Never mind! Blue will fix it when she gets home. Blow the noon whistle, Marzipan. Time for lunch!" And she stomped off, the other fairies stomping along behind her—funny how they all looked alike when they got angry. Only one fairy, the smallest, remained. She stood before him with her hands folded and her head bowed demurely.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

Her sweet little voice wavered. "I'm Tinkerbelle."

"Yeah? So?"

"Fairy of the Month." She slipped her tiny hand in his. "I'm your lunch date."

He didn't know how she did it—he had twenty inches and a hundred pounds on her—but somehow she propelled him out of Blue's office, down the corridor (he had to duck his head because he was so tall—which put him in a slightly better mood), out the back door and to the patio. She took him to a table, the circumference of which was no bigger than that of Bae's kickball, and urged him to be seated in a chair that one of Morraine's dolls would have found too tight. "Maybe we'd better make a picnic of it, don't you think?"

She smiled—her smile would have been pretty if her teeth weren't so pearly white. "All right." He could have sweetened his tea with the honey dripping from her voice.

He snapped his fingers and conjured a checkered blanket and a picnic basket—at least that was one thing he could do right. He bowed. "Milady, will you be seated?"

She tittered and sat. He sighed. At least this hour wouldn't be as humiliating as the last. He opened the basket, producing a bottle of wine and two glasses—at the last minute he transformed them into shot glasses: didn't need a tipsy fairy on his hands. "Some wine, Miss Bell? Or may I call you Tink?"

"I'd like that," she blushed. He poured her a shot. Reaching into the basket again, he said, "Now, upon what would milady care to dine this lovely afternoon? I have roast chicken—oh, sorry, I forgot you gals are vegetarian."

"Actually, I'm a novice."

He raised an eyebrow. "Which means?"

"I have stricter dietary rules to follow. I can't eat meat, fruit, sweets, bread, vegetables, grains of any kind, dairy products—and I can't be in the presence of anyone who's eating any of those things. Oh, and I'm allergic to nuts." She sipped her wine gracefully.

He closed the lid on the picnic basket. "Well, that takes care of that. What can you eat?"

"Tree bark."

"Tree. . .."

She nodded eagerly. "I prefer balsam, if you have it, or cedar."

He licked his lips. "Sounds. . . delightful. Do you—cook it first?"

Her wings bounced as she shook her head. "I'm on a month-long cleanse. Nothing cooked."

"I, uh, suppose that means no sauces of any kind?"

"Nothing cooked. Besides, what sauce doesn't have dairy or meat or vegetable in it?"

"Of course. You know what? I just remembered this is a holy day for us Dark Ones. We're supposed to be fasting." She seemed to accept that answer, so he continued, "Yes. Definitely a holy day. Dark Ones all around the world are fasting today. Wine only." He tossed back his glassful and poured another, then tore off the handle of the picnic basket. "Here, this is cedar, I believe. Bon appetit."

As she gnawed her lunch, he studied her and thought he saw a certain spark in her eyes, a certain spring in her step, a certain way she chewed the wood that made her a possible candidate for a job he'd long had in mind. "So you're new to the, uh, order, eh?"

She nodded, her mouth full.

"You haven't signed a contract then?"

She shook her head and used a twig to pick her teeth.

"Have you ever considered becoming an independent contractor, Tink?"

* * *

The young princess was on her knees, wailing in great gulps of air (which caused her to burp periodically), alternately pounding the floor of her castle and pulling at Dark Blue's pant leg. Dark was becoming quite annoyed: she now had a pair of pants with one leg all stretched out. When the princess grabbed Blue's hand and started kissing it (neglecting to wipe her runny nose first), Blue had had it. She jumped up on the throne, ignoring the damage her muddy boots did to the cushion, and declared, with one hand thrown dramatically into the air, "Either you agree to my terms or it's no deal, dearie."

"But I told you," the princess whined. "I'll give you all my jewels, my best steed, my four-and-twenty blackbird pie recipe."

"The Dark One has no use for any of that," Blue proclaimed. "I—I mean, he—spins straw into gold. If he wanted jewels or steeds or blackbird pie, he could buy them at market price. Or, more likely, wholesale, considering the fear factor."

"What do you want? I'll give anything, anything, to get my boyfriend back."

There was that magic word, the one she'd waited for. "Anything?"

"Anything! I just want Prince Jermaine back in my arms!"

"You do know," Dark Blue leaned down to peer at the pale princess, who had stopped blubbering long enough to admire her reflection in the diamonds on her hand, "that I can't make him love you. No one can."

"Love?" the princess waved her non-ringed hand. "I don't care about love. I just want Jermaine." She grinned maliciously. "He's my sister's betrothed, and I want to see her squirm."

Blue repeatedly slowly, "You want to steal your sister's fiancé."

"She swiped my ball gown right out of my closet—spilled wine all over it!"

Blue drew in a deep breath. "Oooookay then. Your firstborn child in exchange for one Prince." She flipped the contract open and offered the quill. "Do we have a deal?"

The princess seized the quill and scrawled her name on the indicated line. She dotted the "i" in "princess" with a little heart.

"You aren't going to read it first?"

The princess blinked. "Why?"

Dark Blue rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers. A young man in undershirt and boxer shorts appeared, his cheeks dripping with shaving soap. Frightened, he brandished his razor like a miniature sword until Dark turned her back on him and the princess clambered from her knees and tackled him like a linebacker. "Jermaine!" She pelted his face with kisses, then grimaced at the taste of the soap. "Eww."

"Don't forget," Blue warned as she vanished, "your firstborn."

"Oh I'm not worried," the princess scoffed. "I'm on the pill."

* * *

"You did what?!" N-n-n-nova shook so hard the fluffy cotton balls on her necklace fell off.

"I merely gave her some career advice," he waved his hand in dismissal. "A young girl just starting out should have options, and this particular young lady shows an entrepreneurial spirit that would make her unsuitable for your order. I did you a favor, N-n-n-nova. You would have learned soon enough she isn't a team player."

"And so you. . . .signed her to a long term contract with _you_?"

"I made her a very good deal. A salary plus commission," he leaned forward to sneer, "and all the meat, fruit, vegetables and whatever that she cares to eat."

Now the fringe was falling off N-n-n-nova's tutu. "And you sent her to"—she gulped—"_Neverland_? To live with a gang of drop-outs and hoodlums?"

"She will be working for an enterprising young man named Peter, whose career I personally manage. And it's meaningful work she'll be doing, none of this fairy godmother junk. Real work. She will be the aide de camp to Peter's army as they battle the dreadful Captain Hook. A vile and slimey fellow, I assure you." He raised his arm as though raising a sword. "She and Peter will lead them to victory. Now, isn't that so much more exciting than, oh, I don't know, changing puppets into boys?"

"Our Fairy of the Month, and you stole her away."

"You didn't have her under contract."

N-n-n-nova began to pace. "You were supposed to help us. You were supposed to do Blue's work, but instead you stole our best novice. You didn't come here as a learner. You came here as a corporate head-hunter! I'm going to have to report this to—"

"Oh no." He raised his hands in plea. "No. She'll make me wear that tutu. She'll turn me into a mosquito. She'll make me wear that tutu and then turn me into a mosquito and feed me to frogs. Look, I still have the whole afternoon to fix things, yes? I promise I'll do better. Please." He batted those big gold puppy-dog eyes at her.

"Awww," she moaned. "All right. You've got the afternoon. But you'd better get it right this time."

* * *

The princess cowered at his feet. As it should be—except, not today, because today he was a. . . he couldn't say the word, not even to himself. Smiling sweetly—which only made him look more menacing—he softened his voice and bent down so that he was on eye level with her. "Princess, may I remind you, you're royalty. You should stand."

"But I recognize you: you're the Dark One."

He lifted her by the elbows, then quickly withdrew his hands lest she think he was taking liberties. "Not today, Your Majesty. Today, just think of me as. . ." he gulped. "Your fairy godfather."

She peered at him suspiciously. "Really? This isn't some sort of trick to get me to sign some abhorrent contract that would, like, turn over my firstborn to you?"

"Really. There will be no contract." A pain shot through his stomach. "No deals." His temples began to throb. "No. . .p-p-price. The magic will be free of charge." And before he lost his breakfast, he added, "One day only. In business we call it 'a loss leader.'"

"Very well then. Do you have a quill? You'll need to write this down; I'm very particular." She pushed him back into a chair. "On second thought, You'd better sit down. This will take a while. We begin with a certain ball gown that used to be my sister's. . . ."

* * *

Rumplefairy dragged himself back to Blue's office, banging his head on the ceiling because he forgot to duck (actually, that wasn't so bad: it had been ages since he'd been too tall for anything). N-n-n-nova was seated in Blue's chair (which had those little roller wheels—where did she buy her furniture?) and drummed her fingers impatiently as he dropped the wrinkled to-do list on the desk. "It's all done."

She squinted at him. "All?"

"All," he said firmly. "Every one of those housecalls." He dropped into a chair (no rollers) and ran his hand through his hair. "I fed the poor, clothed the ragged, tended the sick; I even saved a drowing puppy and found a new home for it. I fulfilled all the good wishes—"

"And the bad?"

"Oh yes." He sighed. "There were a lot of those. I calmly and kindly explained the error of such selfish and short-sighted thinking, and I persuaded each of those greedy little buggers that 'tis much better to be trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thifty, brave and clean."

"You forgot reverent."

"Of course." But his puppy-dog eyes twinkled. "Seven new converts to the side of good. And you'll be happy to know that two quarelling sisters have now made up after both received a Vera Wang exclusive, and a gold-digging prince, upon being shown the error of his ways, has joined the Peace Corps."

"Very nice." N-n-n-nova stood and walked around him, studying him. "I see you're telling the truth. Very good, Rumplefairy."

Alarms went off in the Dark One's head. If a fairy could tell when the Dark One was lying, his career was kaput. "What do you mean, you can see I'm telling the truth?"

"Your wings." She patted one of them and it shuddered. "When a fairy tells a lie, one of her wings falls off."

"Ohhh."

"You still have four wings left." She smiled. "That's much better than we expected. I'll be sending a positive report to the Great One."

"Thank you. Are we finished? May I go home now?"

N-n-n-nova directed his attention the window and the beam of sunlight pouring through it. "It's still another hour until sundown. So I could send you out with the novices to gather bark for the evening meal, or. . . ."

"I'll take the 'or.'"

She tented her fingers and pursed her lips. "Or we could talk about your future. You know, you strike me as an ambitious guy, and let's face it, once you're the Dark One, there's nowhere to go from there, right? It's a dead end. Suppose I could offer you a lifetime contract—salary and stock options, mind you—and a junior management position with unlimited potentional for growth, in a team-oriented organization that—"

* * *

Two novice fairies were sitting on a bench outside the HR director's office; they were about to find out whether their test scores had proven satisfactory for promotion to full-fledged fairy. "I certainly hope I make it this time," one said to the other, patting her stomach. "All that cedar is giving me gas."

"You really should switch to oak. It's harder to chew, but easier on the stomach," the other advised.

Their conversation was interrupted by a very tall fairy in an Armani suit rushing past them, his wings flapping frantically. With mild curiosity, for they were still novices and hadn't seen enough of the world yet to be alarmed by it, they watched him streak down the corridor, banging his head on the ceiling (for he really was very tall), alternately cursing the pain in his head and shrieking for someone named Belle. He practically tore the door off its hinges in his haste to get out.

The first fairy wondered, "Who is that?"

The second speculated, "Maybe he saw his test scores."

The first fairy patted her aching stomach again. "Or maybe it's too much cedar in his diet."

* * *

Rumplefairy and Dark Blue stood before the very tall desk of the Great and Powerful One. Their heads were hung so low, their noses practically scraped the floor. "That's a very nice tile pattern," Dark Blue remarked in a whisper. "Wonder where she buys her linoleum?"

"I like those roller chairs, myself," Rumplefairy whispered back. "Where did you buy yours?"

"So!" The Great and Powerful One swept into her office, her white robes trailing. The cleaning lady looked up from the trash can she was emptying and scowled, muttering something about unsightly streaks on her nice clean floor. The Great One, not hearing this remark, seated herself and consulted a stack of papers piled neatly on her desk. As she read, she swiveled her chair slowly from side to side.

"Can yours do that?" Rumple whispered.

Blue nodded. "It tilts backwards too."

"Quiet!" The Great One bellowed, then resumed her reading. For a Great One, she read awfully slowly, Rumple thought; or perhaps she just liked to make them sweat it out. He dug a toe into a break in the linoleum; it kept him from tapping his foot. His wings flapped forelornly.

At last the Great One set her papers down, shuffling them back into a neat pile. She peered at them over the tops of her bifocals. "Blue Fairy. Rumplestiltskin."

They stood up straighter and answered in unison, "Yes, ma'am?"

"What have you learned?" She pointed at Blue. "You start."

Blue drew in a deep breath. "Well, I learned that the Dark One's lot is far from easy. The work is never ending; even when he goes home at night, there are people waiting on his doorstep. I learned that deal making requires accuracy, attention to detail, and finesse. I learned that there are all sorts of wicked and greedy people in the world, and sometimes they need someone to teach them a lesson." She stepped forward, digging into the pocket of the dragon-skin jacket. She withdrew a slip of paper and handed it to the Great One. "And Belle gave me this great recipe for fudge. See, you add a little white chocolate. . . ."

"Ohh, fudge," the Great One examined the slip of paper. "Very good, Blue. You may step back." She pointed at Rumple. "Now you."

"Well," he raised his puppy-dog eyes to the Great One. "I learned that the Blue Fairy's job is no easy one, either. It requires great diplomacy, leadership, compassion, wisdom"—he glanced sideways and saw he was making Blue blush. "And her role in the world is unparalleled. The work she does with the downtrodden, the forgotten and the lonely serves both the individual and society, and she does it all with such grace and ease." He wiggled his fingers behind his back and conjured a slip of paper, which he presented to the Great One. "I too brought back a great recipe. For, uh, bark."

The Great One balled up the slip of paper without looking at it. She tossed it into the trash can and declared, "Two points!" The cleaning lady scowled and emptied the trash can again. Turning back to her inferiors, she removed her bifocals and chewed one of the bows as though lost in thought. Finally she said, "Your reports are satisfactory. You may have actually learned something—though I doubt it. Will you promise me there will be no more backbiting, rumor-spreading, name-calling, and otherwise general meanness between you?"

They hung their heads and answered in unison, "Yes, ma'am."

"Very well then." The Great One set her bifocals down on the stack of reports. "You may go. For now." She waved her hand and in a puff of magic the Blue Fairy and the Dark One returned to what they were intended to be: a tutued wing-flapping fairy and a crocodile-skinned imp. With puppy dog eyes. The Great One shooed them away. "Go. Get out of here."

They bowed and answered in unison, "Yes, ma'am." As they backed out of the Great One's office, their heads still hung low, Rumple whispered, "I didn't much to eat today. You want to catch a bite somewhere? My treat."

"Thanks, Rumple. And to show you my heart's in the right place, I'll bring you a plate of fudge tomorrow. I can't wait to try Belle's recipe."

"Better check the list of ingredients first," he cautioned.

"Why?"

"She got the cookbook in a deal I made with one of your fairies."


End file.
